


Maiden

by Darkerchild



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Bad Guys Made Them Do It, Chains, Multi, Object Insertion, They wanted it but not like this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 03:47:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19191274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkerchild/pseuds/Darkerchild
Summary: He was the volcano, she the sacrifice





	Maiden

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chamilet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chamilet/gifts).



In a room deep inside the red-tinged recesses of his damaged TARDIS, the Master circled his prey.

The Doctor was shackled to the posts of a black-sheeted canopy bed. The chains were tight enough to hold him down, but loose enough to let the Master enjoy a bit of a rattle if the Doctor struggled.

Missy stood in the room’s threshold, trying to project an air of apathy. She kept her eyes lowered towards the floor and idly twirled her parasol, like she couldn’t care less about what was going on in front of her.

Inside, she was torn between wanting to rush forwards and save the Doctor – a fool’s errand, obviously, her former self was a mad-man who would happily sacrifice his future for an extra minute of playtime – and wanting to give into her baser urges to fuck him deep into the bedsheets.

Instead, she stole glances upwards as her younger self sighed and tutted, bending over to address the Doctor more personally.

“The worst part of this, obviously,” he said, “is that I won’t be able to remember it in the future. The look on your glum-glum face as you realize, ‘oh, it’s _me_.’ It’s beautiful. I would love to be able to cherish that distress on cold nights. Hold it close. It really warms me up inside, you know?”

The Master stared at the Doctor for a moment, before shaking his head. Missy could feel him flicking away the Doctor’s psychic entreaties, “don’t do this, you’re better than this, you know can be better…” and she wondered if he realized that they were meant for her; that the Doctor was only directing them at him to derail suspicion that she might be compromised.

She continued fidgeting. She was compromised. The trouble was, she didn’t know which of her desires were her own, and which were being thrust upon her. She could feel the Master’s wantonness. His thoughts were her thoughts, after all. She knew what he wanted, what she _had_ wanted – what she still wanted?  

But she could feel the Doctor’s morality seeping over her as well, and she knew that the unattainableness of him had always been part of the appeal.

“Actually, no,” the Master said, huffing at the Doctor. “You don’t know, because you’re all morals and ‘ _I’m doing this because it’s right_ ’. But I know, and I want to make some memories, so… Missy?”

The Master spun on his heel to face her. His wide smile reminded her of some kind of predatory sea creature. Wild, and joyous with the scent of blood in the water.

“Yes dear?” She tuned her voice to reflect bored indifference.

 “Have you had a chance to –” The Master conjured up a mental image of her fucking the Doctor. It was rough and graphic and thrust at her with full sensual overlay. Missy gasped slightly, but quickly regained her composure.

“No,” she said. “No surprise there, he is still shockingly prudish about these things, and he seemed to think that fucking me while also serving as my jailor would have been some sort of abuse of authority.”

The Master cocked his head to the side. “Really? Isn’t that what makes it fun?”

Missy shrugged.

“Well, you know him. I thought I had him on the brink of it. He was recently widowed you see, and you know how he’s always been with boomerang relationships.”

The wave of jealousy that rolled off him was almost enough to knock Missy over, but he kept his voice light and playful, like it was all a joke to him:

“Married? Was it to save a life, or some kind of cultural misunderstanding over beverage containers?”

Missy pretend to notice his hidden possessive rage. She’d realized, finally, in this incarnation, that the Doctor would never truly belong to anyone, with the possible exception of his TARDIS and the chaos of the universe, but her former self wanted to own and to control. She wanted it too, but she kept willfully shaking the urge aside.

In any case, at least she wasn’t so petty as to think that the Doctor’s brief fling with that human/Time Lord hybrid posed any danger to the relationship they’d built up over the millennia. No, the main person to sabotage her chances with the Doctor had always, and would always, be herself.

“Yes and no, but he didn’t get an annulment. I think he actually loved her.”

The Master crinkled his face.

“Gross.”  He looked at her appraisingly. “So, Missy, would you like to fuck him?”

Missy should have anticipated this question. But it was so sudden and direct, and the thought of it made a warm rush creep across her.

“I’m certain I would, but I doubt he’d get hard for me, so I’ll have to content myself with fantasies and finger-fucks. Tragic.”

She sighed dramatically, hoping that would be the end of it. Knowing it wouldn’t.

“There are drugs for that you know…” the Master said.

“Not the same,” Missy snapped.

“Truly." The Master paused for a worrying long moment. Missy knew that the only time he ever stopped or waited was when he was either watching someone squirm or working out one of his schemes. "You know," he saidm "I’ve been admiring that parasol you carrying around. A bit bulky, but it has style. You could slide that handle right up inside him and give a little twist. I think you could make him twitch.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Don’t want to get dirty?”

“It feels unimaginative.”

“Tell me then, what creative circumstances do you require? We have the entirety of our TARDIS at our disposal. Let’s have fun.”

Missy wanted to back away, but the hallway behind her had narrowed. The Master’s TARDIS was forcing her to stay in the conversation, and her former self had her trapped. He _knew_ , damnit it all. He knew that she was trying to protect the Doctor.

“I’d rather not.”

“I’m never one to turn down a good time, without a good reason. Why? Has he got inside your head?”

“No, this body simply isn’t… interested. In that.”

Which was a lie, and he knew it. He’d seen her flush. He could probably smell the pheromones wafting off her. And meanwhile, the Doctor was just laying there passively, watching her, instead of making a distraction, or doing anything at all to help his situation, which made Missy think he was planning something too. And she had no idea if helping her was a part of that plan or not. 

“You’re lying,” the Master said. His shark smile was out again, but this time Missy knew it was directed at her.

“Probably.”

“I like lies, but not right now.”

“Maybe I don’t want an audience,” Missy said, casting around for a way out.

“I hardly count as an audience.”

Check and mate. Missy swallowed hard. It wouldn’t be that bad. She could convince her former self of her dark motives, and the Doctor would understand she was doing it to buy time for both of them.

“Fine then, I’ll bugger him with my parasol if that’s what gets you off. You get to clean it afterwards. I’m certain that will be a memory you’ll cherish when you catch up with it.”

Missy walked decisively over to the Doctor’s side and, using one hand, thrust the handle of her parasol against the Doctor’s tightly lipped mouth. She pressed hard enough to feel the resistance of his teeth but he didn’t part his lips. He stared at her with those ice-blue eyes of his, fixating her, whispering into her mind that there was a better way, and she didn’t have to give in.

“Suck,” she whispered at him, half in desperation, half in annoyance, as she patted down the sides of her petty coats with her free hand. “Come now, don’t be a baby, open your mouth, give him a show, and give me a moment to search my pockets for a bit of lubrication.”

“What’s that?” the Master asked as she managed to find and retrieve a slim, foil packet.

“A girl has to be prepared, doesn’t she? Don’t frown like that. You can do whatever you like later on, but I don’t want to get blood all over the place. Besides, pain isn’t the only way to hurt someone.”

“True, but it is so, _so_ gratifyingly easy.”

Missy removed the handle from the Doctor’s still stubbornly closed mouth. She’d left a bruise on his lip. The site of the mark aroused her in a way she hadn’t expected. She leaned forwards, hardly in control of herself, and kissed him. To her surprised, he kissed her back.

“Missy…” he whispered up at her, packing a thousand meanings, and no meaning at all into her name.

“Shhhh,” she said, pulling back, patting him gently, trying to regain control. “Just… act like you aren’t enjoying yourself.”

He looked shocked that she'd even suggest it.

“In what universe would I enjoy this?”

Missy bit her lip and looked away. Brusquely, she undid his belt and yanked down his trousers and his pants, exposing his thin white thighs and wrinkled dick and balls. The chains and the tangle of clothing prevented her from bending his legs the way she needed them to go. She thought about asking the Master for a key, but she could tell by the way he was watching her that he was waiting for such a ploy. Instead she drew a knife from a hidden pouch in her sleeve and used it to cut his clothes away, leaving his bottom half completely bare.

“Nice accessory, you could do some damage with a blade like that,” the Master said. She could feel the lust in his voice. It made her shudder, because she could imagine it. Ribbons of blood. Cuts and bruises. The Doctor’s staring up at her so utterly confused and broken…

She was getting wet just thinking about it, and she hated it.

Taking a deep breath, Missy brushed her unfortunate desires away and concentrated on lubing up the handle of her parasol, arranging the Doctor’s legs just so, lining everything up and –

“Nice. Ooo, in it goes!” The Master shouted.

Missy did her best to ignore him as she gently worked the handle into the Doctor’s pale ass. She could feel his thigh trembling under her steadying hand. She moved her palm under his bony ass cheek. Damn it all, he was whimpering. He hadn’t expected her to go through with this. He was hurt and confused. And Missy wanted it to stop, and to hold him, and to comfort him, and she also wanted to it to go on and on; to rape and torture him for days as he squirmed in his chains. She wanted to do so much worse.

His whimpers were so beautiful.

“Too slow,” the Master pouted. “Go deeper. Faster. Deeper!”

“Are you fucking him, or am I?”

“Was that meant as a hypothetical question or – ?”

The Master was cut off by a startled cry from the Doctor. Missy realized that she’d pushed the handle in deeper, almost violently, without really realizing it. She had to be more careful. She had to stay in control, even though the Doctor was making a steady symphony of groans now.

“That was a nice moan, wasn’t it?” the Master said. “I do love it when they moan, but the whimpers are also so sweet. Which do I prefer as you?”

Missy bit her lip, concentrating. The Master was right beside her on the bed, sitting on the damp sheets watching her. She didn’t remember crawling up between the Doctor’s legs for a better angle. She didn’t notice him joining her there. She felt stretched and brittle, strung between two minds competing for her sanity, and her own wants. She was throbbing, down there, and all she wanted was to strip off her skirts and have a good wank. Or to keep fucking the Doctor. Or to actually fuck the Doctor.

She wanted… she wanted…

She sorted through her disheveled psychic to try to find what she actually wanted.

“I like it when they don’t make any sound at all,” she said. “I like it when he’s being self-contained, but you can see everything in his eyes. Like a volcano.”

She looked up at the Doctor. He was quiet, suddenly, and staring at her. Simmering under the surface. Missy hissed in frustration. Was he doing this on purpose to mock her?

“That’s nice,” the Master said. “But it’s hard to judge how effective you’re being. A good scream though. Do you remember the Freak? Now he was a satisfying screamer. I was trying to track him down when we ran into each other. Maybe we could search him out later on. Have a happy reunion.” “Imagine the fun we could have together. We could renovate a whole wing of our TARDIS for the occasion.”

“That seems excessive.”

“I enjoy grand gestures. You could pick out the curtains, and the shackles.”

“I’d need a toy cabinet,” Missy said. The tendrils of what the Master was suggesting worked through her. She tried to keep herself steady, anchoring herself on the Doctor’s wounded stare. She didn’t want this. He didn’t want this. She wanted this…

“What would you keep in it?” the Master asked, his lips against her ear.

“Vibrators, dildos, knives…” Missy whispered, the word flowing out of her, like the desires she kept pretending not to have. She looked at the Doctor and his bruised lip, wanting to send him a psychic message, but to afraid that her former self would overhead it to try.

 _Please forgive me_ , she thought, hoping he’d understand, even though the Doctor looked cold now; shut-off, betrayed. He'd closed his eyes.

“So you do want to see him bleed,” the Master said. “We could find his dead wife while she was still kicking, and maybe a few of his other companions, and chain them all up where he can watch the festivities. It’ll make him so angry, and you can… watch his eyes or whatever it was you said got you off.”

Missy withdraw her parasol, trying to ignore the Doctor’s little gasp from the quick movement. She handed it to the Master and pushed herself off the bed.

“Yes, that sounds lovely. Now this has to be cleaned.”

The Master held the dripping parasol gingered.

“I could just buy you a new one.”

“I like this one. Don’t ruin it.”

“Do you like my plan?” he asked.

“Yes,” Missy said. “It’s burning with madness, and rich with the drunken splendor of knowing that we can do whatever we like.”

“Yes, whatever I like.” The Master got off the bed and moved towards the room’s exit. Missy could see that the corridors outside had rearranged themselves. She could escape now, for a given meaning of the word escape. She was, she realized, just as must a plaything to her former self as the Doctor was.

The Master nodded at the parasol, and then at the Doctor.

“If I’m cleaning this, then you have to clean that. Don’t enjoy yourself too much, and don’t let him get inside your head. Empathy is such a regrettable trait.”

The Master left the room. Missy found a cloth and did his bidding, biting her lip until it bruised. She didn’t show weakness. She was in control.

 She was in control.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
